


Black Tie Occasion

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Soft Dean Winchester, Tie Kink, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: Dean had always liked the bright blue tie that matched Castiel's eyes.But today, maybe he likes this black one more.





	Black Tie Occasion

“Cas, your tie is crooked.”

He steps forward and straightens the haphazard tie, movements slow and unhurried. A soft affectionate smile tugs at his lips as he also turns the tie around. For some reason, whenever Castiel put his tie on himself, it was always backward. Dean drags his hand down the silky length, pressing the material against Castiel’s chest. Already, he missed the old tie, the one that matched Castiel’s vivid blue eyes and stood out sharply against his usual black suit and tan trench coat. The one under Dean’s hand is dark as midnight, as is the one around his own neck.

Dean slides his hands down Castiel’s suit jacket, smoothing away the nonexistent wrinkles. Fussed with the perfectly buttoned cuffs. Tugged gently at the pressed peaks of the white dress shirt collar.

Castiel huffs a quiet laugh.

With a defensive retort on the tip of his tongue — _Don’t laugh at me, Cas_ — Dean glances up. And promptly forgets how to breathe. Castiel stands with his hands relaxed at his sides, eyes glittering with amusement. His black suit — tailored exactly and only for him — hugged his torso in all the right places, accentuating his broad shoulders, thick arms, and trim waist. They had decided not to put any products into their hair, much to Castiel’s chagrin; Dean loves the ruffled sex hair that Castiel somehow always sported, and this time, he’d even helped _(What are you doing — Dean! Stop that), _ running his fingers through the dark strands. Dean watches, hypnotized, as Castiel’s red tongue pokes out to swipe at those perpetually chapped pink lips. Unconsciously mirroring the movement, Dean drags his gaze away, and finds Castiel’s eyes trained on _his_ lips.

Growling low in his throat, Dean advances, purposefully using his slight height advantage to tower over Castiel. Although he was bewildered by Dean’s sudden shift in demeanor, Castiel takes the hint and moves as Dean crowds him backward, eyes widening with realization when his back hits the wall and he has no more distance to offer Dean. And unlike all the women Dean has boxed in with walls at their backs and nowhere to go, Castiel doesn’t shrink with — oftentimes played up — fear, or soften with visible lust. No, those beautiful blue eyes stare back at Dean, steady and fearless and _defiant._ There’s nothing wrong with someone that is eager and pliant, but Dean always remembered the ones that knew how to put him in his place. Actually even preferred them, when he wasn’t looking to blow steam and forget his own name for a while. All the others were forgettable. Nameless faces, easy hook ups. Fleeting memories soaked with alcohol, sexual pleasure, and leaving an unfamiliar bed early in the morning.

Grabbing Castiel’s tie, Dean wraps it around his palm, yanking on it with enough pressure to remind Castiel that he’d have no option but to move if Dean pulls with any more force. Dean leans in, his nose nearly touching Castiel’s. There’s a brief moment of silence, the air charged with thick electric tension, their breaths mingling in the short distance between their lips. Castiel’s eyes dart restlessly, from Dean’s green eyes to Dean’s lips and back again.

Then Dean beams, urging Castiel to tip forward with a gentle tug on his tie. The kiss is slow, their lips pressing softly together. Castiel nips teasingly at Dean’s bottom lip and Dean groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest like the growl of the Impala’s engine. Releasing the tie, Dean plants a hand on the wall next to Castiel’s head, squeezing himself even closer. He slots a knee between Castiel’s legs, nudging the thick thighs apart as he cups Castiel’s cheek with his other hand, dragging a thumb across the light stubble while they kiss.

Spreading his fingers against Dean’s nape, Castiel uses his free hand to loosely grip Dean’s wrist, next to his head. He arches up against Dean with a high whine when the hunter smoothly lifts his hand off the wall, pins Castiel’s hand against it, and twines their fingers together — all without either of them breaking the contact of their lips or opening their eyes. Castiel deliberately allows his mouth to fall open against Dean’s, a blatant offering. An invitation.

Never one for resisting such a temptation, Dean happily obliges, licking eagerly into Castiel’s mouth. It’s like a switch flicks when Castiel tips his head back against the wall; leisurely gentle kisses turn hungry and wet, tongues possessive in their aggressive exploration of each other’s mouths. Dean thoroughly kisses Castiel until they’re both panting for breath, pulling back to bite at the smooth skin of Castiel’s throat. Castiel melts against the wall, eyes still closed and slick kiss swollen lips parted, indulgently tilting his head and baring his neck when Dean noses insistently at his jaw. And Dean knows better than to leave marks in such a visible place — his teeth press lightly, leaving little stings of pain and pleasure in their wake, his tongue making the occasional appearance to taste Castiel’s skin.

When Dean finally registers the low continuous sound that emanated from Castiel, he freezes in place, barely breathing as he strained his ears to listen intently. There was no way, Dean’s hearing things. Only he’s not. Clear as day, the rolling purrs spilled from the back of Castiel’s throat, a sound that felines produced when they were content. Ridiculously endeared by the discovery, Dean leans in to kiss Castiel again. He can’t help his soft laugh and wide grin when Castiel chases after his lips as Dean pulls back. Castiel makes an expression that could only be categorized as a pout, his betrayed frown followed by wide sad blue eyes that rivaled even Sam’s best kicked puppy look.

“We gotta go, Cas.”

Castiel blinks. “Dean, my tie is crooked again.”

“Geez. You’re a demanding angel, anyone ever tell you that,” Dean sighs in mock exasperation, sliding his hands around Castiel’s collar.

“No. Just one person,” Castiel replies with a little upward curl of his lips.

“Good, you tell me if anyone else does.”

Despite his fond smile, Castiel’s nod is serious. “Alright.”

Dean diligently straightens the wrinkles from their suits, pats some dust from the wall off Castiel’s back, bustles around like a cleaning fairy until he’s satisfied with his handiwork. Nodding firmly with a wide dazzling smile, Dean steps back, holds his hand out to Castiel. The thick gold band on his ring finger catches the light, gleaming brightly.

“C’mon, Castiel Winchester.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before, it was _Do not touch Dean Winchester's little brother._
> 
> Now, nearly everyone (and thing) knew:  
>  _Do not touch Sam Winchester because Dean Winchester will come for you. Do not touch Dean Winchester because Sam Winchester will hunt you down. And do not EVER touch Sam Winchester and specifically NEVER Dean Winchester, because Castiel Winchester will find you and — with his grace or without — rain heavenly vengeance on your head._


End file.
